<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>starts with a b by sadwhales</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954111">starts with a b</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwhales/pseuds/sadwhales'>sadwhales</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Teenage Runaway [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, POV Alternating</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:01:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwhales/pseuds/sadwhales</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey are dating. It's not that complicated.<br/>(Five times the word "boyfriend" comes up, and one time they actually talk about it.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Teenage Runaway [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>395</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>starts with a b</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>1. Ian</strong>
</p><p>Ian catches himself thinking it in March. At this point, he and Mickey have known each other for four months, and time has gone by faster than ever before. Ian’s willing to admit that he can be a bit of a romantic sometimes, and it’s something he definitely wants, something he’s idly dreamt about ever since he figured out he likes boys.</p><p>And with Mickey, well. He’s thought about it, of course, but the way it comes to him then, without warning, like it’s a simple fact, manages to throw him for a loop.</p><p>They’re at the abandoned buildings, and Mickey’s teaching Ian how to shoot a gun. That’s what he’s supposed to be doing, anyway, but mostly he’s just showing off by hitting empty beer cans from a distance and using the “lesson” as a lame excuse to stand behind Ian, bite at his neck and grope his dick.</p><p>Ian doesn’t much care about learning to shoot. He can’t imagine ever even having a gun, let alone using one in a real-life situation. But he likes spending time with Mickey, especially as target practice is clearly something Mickey enjoys. It’s probably a good way to relieve stress, pointing a gun at something that isn’t going to point one back at him; Mickey doesn’t say it, but Ian sees how high-strung and skittish he can get when his dad puts him on bigger jobs. He has a lot of responsibility at home, mostly because he’s smarter than his brothers.</p><p>Ian doesn’t particularly like thinking about Mickey constantly putting himself in dangerous situations, but there isn’t much he can do about it. He never stops worrying, and Mickey can probably tell, because he doesn’t share many details anymore.</p><p>Ian has this pipe dream about convincing Mickey to make plans for his future, real plans, ones that don’t involve drugs and guns and criminals. Mickey’s not ready to hear it, he knows, but Ian’s almost completely sure that he just needs a push in the right direction.</p><p>With a little, victorious grunt, Mickey puts a hole right through the last beer can. He turns to where Ian is leaning against a concrete pillar, and he’s got this big, proud grin on his face, like he wants to make sure Ian saw him take five perfect shots in a row. As if Ian is able to take his eyes off Mickey.</p><p>Ian crosses his arms, impressed, watches Mickey put the gun away. “Not bad.”</p><p>“Uh-huh”, Mickey says, pleased as fucking punch, and stalks over.</p><p>Despite acting all nonchalant, Mickey clearly likes the attention. More often than not, he scowls at Ian’s compliments, unable to make direct eye-contact, but his ears go a little red. Ian never bothers hiding the shit he admires about Mickey, partly because Mickey’s company makes it impossible for him to shut up, and partly because he thinks Mickey deserves to hear it. Ian can’t imagine him getting too much positive feedback on the daily.</p><p>Ian doesn’t get the chance to say more, because Mickey’s right there in his space, unfolding Ian’s arms and pressing them against the rough concrete. Keeping his hands in place, Mickey kisses him with fervor, warm tongue instantly licking between Ian’s lips. Ian, always ready to get Mickey’s mouth on his, presses forward just as fiercely, already breathless with the force of the kiss, with Mickey’s hands tightening around his wrists.</p><p>Mickey kisses like he’s trying to climb inside Ian’s skin, teeth nipping Ian’s mouth raw, ribcage expanding against his with rough breaths. It’s setting Ian’s body ablaze, and for a moment he nearly forgets where they are, that there are other people in the world besides the two of them, lips and bodies connected tight.</p><p>When Mickey pulls away, it’s lingering and slow, and leaves Ian’s lips tingling pleasantly. Ian opens his eyes – <em>when did he close them?</em> – but Mickey isn’t stepping back, isn’t getting on his knees like he tends to do after a kiss like that.</p><p>Unusually tender, he lets go of Ian’s wrists to move upwards, to lace their fingers together instead, and it’s ridiculous how lightheaded it makes Ian.</p><p>That’s when it happens.</p><p>Mickey’s still grinning, all fired up from the shots he made, a perfect flush high on his cheekbones, and Ian is helpless to do anything but think <em>shit, I’ve got a beautiful boyfriend</em>.</p><p>Ian’s face must do something when the realization hits, because Mickey’s hold loosens, and his smile falters a fraction.</p><p>“What?” Mickey asks, lowering their hands.</p><p>“Nothing”, Ian breathes, shakes his head, even though his stomach is suddenly doing backflips because of one, simple word.</p><p>Boyfriend. That’s what they are, technically, right? Boyfriends. They’re constantly together, they kiss and fuck and laugh and talk for hours. Mickey’s even had dinner with Ian’s family. It shouldn’t be a shock, but it kind of <em>is</em>, how it feels so natural and undeniable. Mickey Milkovich is his <em>boyfriend</em>.</p><p>It’s a big word, though, and Ian knows for sure it’s an even bigger one for Mickey. It can’t just be carelessly thrown out there. Now is not the time to have that discussion. Now they’re being stupid and carefree, and Ian wants nothing more than to pull Mickey back in and kiss him senseless.</p><p>Mickey’s expression is questioning, so Ian ends the conversation by tucking his hands into Mickey’s back pockets. Still, the word settles in Ian’s chest, new and warm and exciting. It stays there the entire night, like it’s right where it’s supposed to be.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>2. Mickey</strong>
</p><p>“Hey, dickface, you got the shit for tonight?”</p><p>“On it”, Mickey says, flipping the channel, not even glancing at Iggy slumping onto the couch beside him.</p><p>“What the fuck’s that mean, on it?” Iggy insists, shoving at Mickey’s arm.</p><p><em>Jesus.</em> There’s supposed to be this party tonight, a bajillion people coming over to drink themselves sick and trash their house. Well, Mickey doubts anyone will be able to see the difference, considering what a shithole it is to begin with. Whatever. There's a party coming up and Iggy’s being uncharacteristically demanding about the whole thing.</p><p>It’s not unusual to have wild parties at the Milkovich house. It’s either Terry with his gang of old, hardened criminals, or one of the children with as many South Side lowlifes as they can possibly gather up. It’s funny, how people are generally afraid of them, but consider it cool to be a part of a Milkovich house party.</p><p>What makes this night special, apparently, is that there’s a <em>girl</em>. There’s a girl that Iggy wants to impress, and Mickey’s been making fun of him for it mercilessly, but at the same time, it’s sort of sweet. Mickey can’t remember any of his siblings ever putting genuine effort into impressing someone they want to fuck, which probably means Iggy doesn’t just want to fuck her. He wants to <em>date</em> her.</p><p>Mickey’s unable to find anything truly shitty to say about that. He blames Ian. Hanging out with him, all that touchy-feely crap, it’s making Mickey soft.</p><p>“Means I’m just fucking leaving”, he grunts at Iggy and shoves him right back.</p><p>It’s Mickey’s job to get the booze, because the liquor store owner likes him better than his brothers, so he’ll have less trouble carrying a house party’s worth of alcohol out of there.</p><p>“Then go, who the fuck wants to come to a party with no booze?”</p><p>“Alright, relax”, Mickey switches the tv off, holds up his hands. “You’re getting your gross, pink wine shit.”</p><p>Iggy’s been on his ass about getting this particular girly booze the chick likes, something Mickey has never even heard of, and would never drink in a million years.</p><p>“It’s called <em>rosé</em>, man”, Iggy corrects him, and Mickey snorts. The word sounds so absurd coming from his brother’s mouth. Christ, the guy must be whipped. It’d be funny, but Mickey stole Ian a Twix last week because he knows it’s his favorite candy bar.</p><p>“Whatever”, he sighs, but doesn’t get up. After a moment, he glances at Iggy from the corner of his eye. “You really like this chick, huh?”</p><p>Iggy looks uneasy. He runs a hand through his hair, which looks like it’s been <em>washed</em> today. “Shit. Guess I do.”</p><p>“Good for you”, Mickey says, not even a little sarcastic. He punches Iggy’s thigh, the closest they’ll ever get to affection. “Hey, don’t start by showing her your knife collection. It’s not as cool as you think.”</p><p>Iggy chuckles. “Just go get the fucking booze.”</p><p>Mickey’s already at the door, tugging on his coat, when Iggy calls out from the couch: “Thanks, man. She’s bringing some of her friends tonight. Blonde, single, real cute. You want me to set you up?”</p><p>Normally Mickey would shrug, say <em>yeah, sure</em>, and then try all evening to come up with an excuse to bail. Or try to make everyone think he fucked her without actually doing it. Or do it and pretend to be somewhere else during.</p><p>Now, to his complete and utter horror, the words that almost fall out of his mouth are <em>no thanks, I got a boyfriend</em>.</p><p>He nearly pukes from pure shock when his brain catches up. He thinks he manages to stammer out a <em>no</em> to Iggy, and then he’s out the door, stumbling down the steps, coat still unbuttoned.</p><p><em>What the fuck</em>, is the loudest thing in his mind as he’s walking blindly down the street, barely registering if he’s even going in the right direction. He feels like a fucking idiot, both for nearly saying shit like that in front of Iggy, and for realizing this is the first time he’s ever even <em>thought</em> of shit like that.</p><p>It’s not like he’s been lying to himself. He knows he’s not just fucking around with Ian, but somehow that word hasn’t crossed his mind once. If he was a normal person, he’d probably look at him and Ian and come to the very logical conclusion that they are, in fact, dating. They <em>share food</em>, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey doesn’t share his food.</p><p>The word <em>boyfriend</em> isn’t misleading in the slightest, but it makes Mickey’s heart feel like it’s about to implode.</p><p>Mickey is someone’s boyfriend. It’s such a soft word it seems ridiculous it could ever be applied to Mickey. He’s tough and angry and bad-mannered, not at all charming or sweet. He was supposed to be a closeted piece of shit forever, doomed to fuck other guys in secret, in alleyways and club bathrooms.</p><p>He’s not. Instead, he’s a <em>boyfriend</em>. He’s a boyfriend to Ian Gallagher, no less, who just might be the sweetest, most charming guy in the world. Ian Gallagher, with his freckles and his thousand-sun smile, who is kind but bitingly sarcastic, who likes holding Mickey’s hand and wants to kiss him behind the ear sometimes.</p><p>His thoughts are a jumble the entire way to the liquor store. His hands are shaking, heart hammering, but it might not be entirely in a bad way. It’s a huge thing, and Mickey isn’t sure if he should be allowed to have it. He does, though, <em>holy fuck</em>, and he’d go pretty damn far to keep it.</p><p>The word – <em>boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend</em> – keeps echoing in his head, making him so distracted he’s already on his way home when he realizes he forgot the pink wine shit and has to turn back to make another trip so Iggy doesn’t murder him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>3. Ian</strong>
</p><p>Ian’s at the library with Emily, the girl who lent him a pencil on his first week, brainstorming essay ideas. They’ve started hanging out every now and then, grabbing coffee and doing homework together. It’s not like they’re sharing secrets with each other, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to at school, as well. As much as Ian likes spending time with Mickey, when it comes to writing an essay about the Great Gatsby, his extensive knowledge about drug prices and weak points in the human body is totally useless. Also, he wouldn’t give a shit.</p><p>Thinking about it makes Ian laugh under his breath. He can’t help but picture Mickey handing in an essay about the symbolism used by F. Scott Fitzgerald, littered with curse words and dirty remarks.</p><p>“What’s funny?” Emily asks, looking up from her notes.</p><p>Ian waves it off. “Nothing.”</p><p>Emily frowns at him and taps her pencil impatiently against the paper. It’s mostly empty, as is Ian’s notebook. Friday night is not the most inspiring time to write essays, but he’s been working late and covering a sick colleague’s shifts at the grill. Between work and hanging out with Mickey, he has to squeeze in the schoolwork wherever he can.</p><p>Truth be told, Ian <em>has</em> been sort of tired and stressed out lately. He’s never been this busy. He’s also used to peace and quiet at home where it’s just him and his dad. While he loves his siblings endlessly, the constant noise of a big family crammed into one, tight living space doesn’t help all that much. Mickey’s company does ease the stress but tends to leave Ian physically exhausted. Not that they only bang when they’re together, but they <em>are</em> teenagers, and the sex <em>is</em> fantastic.</p><p>After a few more minutes of silence, Emily shuts her notebook with a sigh of despair. “I give up. I can’t do this.” She smacks her palm against her forehead. “It’s all empty up here.”</p><p>“Yeah”, Ian admits, putting his own pencil away. “But this has to be done by next week. I mean, we have to get it started soon, at least.”</p><p>Emily <em>hmm</em>s. “You free during the weekend? Tomorrow?”</p><p>“Sorry, can’t do tomorrow. I’ve got a shift in the morning and plans for the night”, Ian tells her. “Sunday afternoon works, though.”</p><p>The weather’s finally getting warmer, and the opportunities for outdoor activities are increasing. Mickey’s got this whole thing planned for tomorrow; now that the wind is not freezing cold anymore, they’re going to the abandoned buildings and climbing all the way to the roof to watch the sunset, and probably smoke some of that good weed Mickey has access to. No one has said the words <em>date night</em>, but it absolutely is a date night.</p><p>It might not be intentional on Mickey’s part, but it’s the location that has Ian the most excited. He’s sentimental about this kind of shit, and the abandoned buildings are the place where they got together, or at least hooked up, which led to them getting together. Ian’s wanted to watch the sunset from that rooftop from the moment he heard the genuine joy in Mickey’s voice as he described it.</p><p>There’s also the fact that Mickey just happened to come up with this plan when Ian was starting to feel overworked, but that might not be intentional, either.</p><p>“Oh, are you doing something with your boyfriend tomorrow?” Emily asks conversationally. She’s not even teasing, only genuinely curious.</p><p>Ian’s taken aback. “What?”</p><p>“You got like a romantic night planned?” Now Ian can hear the teasing, but it’s light, friendly.</p><p>“Uh”, Ian says, slowly. He’s sure he hasn’t mentioned Mickey to anyone outside of his family, and even around them, he’s careful. He always avoids telling them things that make it sound like they’re as close as they are. “Have I… been using that word?”</p><p>“What, romantic?”</p><p>“Boyfriend.”</p><p>“No!” Emily laughs. “Sorry, I just thought- It’s the way you always talk.”</p><p>Ian blinks. “How do I talk?”</p><p>“Well, you know. Like when you say you’ve got plans with someone, or tell me you had a fun night or whatever. You have this look on your face”, she wrinkles her nose, smiling. “You’re all starry-eyed and gross. I always thought you were dating someone.”</p><p>“No, yeah”, Ian says, still trying to wrap his head around how someone picked up <em>boyfriend</em> from the way Ian talks, from his expressions, whatever. It’s all too new to Ian himself. “I am. I am dating someone.” He falters. “Guess I didn’t realize I was being so obvious about it.”</p><p>Emily raises her eyebrows. “It’s kinda sweet.”</p><p>It makes Ian laugh, something warm in his stomach. Someone knows, someone sees him thinking of Mickey and knows how incredibly infatuated he is. It’s nice. It feels surprisingly freeing, even if Emily doesn’t know who the guy in question is.</p><p>“Sweet”, Ian echoes. It’s a funny word, not the first one that comes to mind when you look at Mickey, but he has his own way of being sweet. It’s showing Ian special places and putting effort into saying things that don’t come naturally and organizing relaxing nights when Ian needs them. “It is. My-” he doesn’t say it, even though it’s right there on his lips. It’s too special. “Yeah, he is.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>4. Mickey</strong>
</p><p>It’s a pretty damn good view: Ian, under him, hair dark with sweat, skin blotched pink all the way down to his chest, face twisted up in pleasure. He’s peering up at Mickey with half-lidded eyes, intense and concentrated even as he looks like he’s halfway to losing his mind. His fingers are flexing on Mickey’s hips, perfectly synced with the way Mickey is fucking himself onto Ian’s cock.</p><p>“Mick”, Ian gasps, swallows hard. “You’re- Fuck, <em>Mickey</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Mickey urges him on, rolling his hips harder, ignoring the burn in his thighs. “Like that?”</p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>”, Ian nods. “So good, you feel fucking amazing.”</p><p>Mickey bites down on his lip. It’s goddamn hard to keep his composure when Ian looks like <em>that</em>, sounds like <em>that</em>, feels like <em>that</em> inside him, so amazing it almost brings tears to his eyes. But Mickey’s determined to hold off, won’t even touch his own dick until Ian’s right there on the edge.</p><p>It’s only the second time Mickey’s ever tried riding Ian, and it’s good enough that he mourns not having the guts to do it sooner. He’d expected it to be weird and uncomfortable, too much like showing himself off. In Mickey’s mind, there had been a significant difference between bending over and having some dude put his dick in your ass, and climbing into the dude’s lap and actually <em>working </em>for taking a dick in your ass.</p><p>He’d been wrong. It’s the best kind of power trip, pinning Ian to the bed and sinking down slowly, slowly, just getting to watch Ian come undone, getting to be the one <em>causing</em> it. The way Ian shivers, moans softly, runs his hands up and down Mickey’s thighs. Mickey can’t get enough. It’s embarrassing as fuck, but it makes him feel like he’s strong or capable or some shit, in a completely different – <em>better</em> – way than swinging his fists does.</p><p>Mickey lifts himself up all the way, until his legs tremble. Back down, his breath getting punched out of him by the delicious stretch. He always likes it a bit rough, without too much prep, loves when it feels like a little too much.</p><p>“Shit”, he swears, voice going breathy. “Got a perfect fucking cock, I swear, made for fucking me.”</p><p>Ian’s hips stutter. His hands tighten on Mickey’s hips. “<em>Oh</em>, God.”</p><p>“You close?” Mickey asks. “Gonna come in me? Fucking fill me up?”</p><p>Ian nods frantically, mouth hanging open. Mickey’s starting to lose it as well, aching to jerk himself off. Instead, he leans forward to scrape his fingernails over Ian’s nipples, stiff and pale pink. He pinches one, then the other, rubs his thumb over them until Ian’s arching his back.</p><p>“Yes, fuck, fuck”, Ian moans. “So close.”</p><p>“C’mon, I’m – <em>uh</em> – me too. Fucking close.”</p><p>Ian groans, not even attempting to muffle the sound. He shoves Mickey back with trembling arms, thrusts up forcefully to meet him halfway, hips pushing off the bed. His hands move to grab Mickey’s ass, one cheek in each palm, squeezing hard and spreading it impossibly more open.</p><p>It feels fucking obscene, so goddamn hot Mickey’s breath stutters in his lungs. He has to plant his own hands onto Ian’s chest to keep from falling forward, unable to do anything but moan and shake as Ian lifts him up and down, practically impales Mickey on his cock with every stroke, so deep Mickey swears he can feel it in his throat.</p><p>Their movements are getting desperate and uncoordinated, bodies sweating and muscles burning, both torturously close to coming. Mickey grabs his own cock, strokes it roughly as he bounces on Ian’s lap.</p><p>Ian comes babbling Mickey’s name, pulsing hot inside him and writhing against the sheets. Mickey follows with a choked-out whine, immediately collapsing on top of Ian when his legs give out.</p><p>“Christ”, Ian pants against his ear, strokes his back until Mickey gathers enough strength to lift himself, flop onto his stomach next to Ian.</p><p>Everything is sweaty, slick with cum and lube, and Mickey knows he’ll be cold soon as he’s lying bare-assed on the wet sheets, but he’s too sated and boneless to do anything about it. He folds his arms under his head to see Ian better. Ian looks fucked out as well, but he has this <em>glow</em> about him that Mickey sure as hell doesn’t, cheeks rosy and eyes shining, red curls falling over his forehead. Looking at it, Mickey’s stomach does a dumb little flip. No one looks that fucking good all the time, but apparently Ian does.</p><p>Their eyes meet, and maybe Ian sees something he likes as well, because his mouth quirks into a little smile.</p><p>Mickey can’t not return it. “Kinda hot.”</p><p>Ian groans, but it’s tired rather than horny. He stretches his arms, and Mickey gets to watch the muscles being pulled tight, biceps bulging under glistening skin. “Fucking insane. Wanna do that all the time.”</p><p>“Don’t get too used to it. Think my legs are fucking broken.”</p><p>“Worth it”, Ian says airily, like Mickey wasn’t the one putting in all the work. Well, most of the work.</p><p>“I’m serious”, Mickey insists, reaching over to slap Ian’s chest. It ends up being more like a caress. “They’re fucked. I could’ve pulled a muscle.”</p><p>Ian sets his hand on top of Mickey’s, fits them together. It’s impossibly sweet, and Mickey has to bite his lip. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll fuck you with your legs on my shoulders next time.”</p><p>It’s joking, but not entirely. Ian’s teasing him, but he’s also<em> not</em>. Mickey doesn’t want to examine which part of it makes his gut clench sharply.</p><p>“A real gentleman, huh?” he jabs, making Ian smirk and squeeze his fingers.</p><p>“Mm. It’s actually the only reason I’m learning first aid. To fix you up if you break your legs during sex.”</p><p>“Well”, Mickey pulls his hand away and props himself up on his elbows. “Patched me up once already, so I think I’d trust you.”</p><p>Ian perks up at that. “Yeah?” He asks, earnest and pleased.</p><p>Funnily enough, Mickey getting stabbed had inspired Ian. As soon as he gets out of high school, he plans to study to become an EMT, maybe even a paramedic. Ian isn’t sure if it’s something he’ll do for the rest of his life, but Mickey can see the burning in his eyes when he talks about wanting to help people who need it the most. It’s fitting, because Ian’s kindness and bravery never seem to run out, and even though Mickey isn’t the kind of person who generally believes it’s possible to make the world a better place, he thinks if anyone can do it, it’s Ian.</p><p>Ian is passionate and determined and real fucking smart. He has things in his heart that no one else around here does. Mickey wants to keep them safe, because the world is fucked up and has a way of breaking and ruining things like that.</p><p>It makes Mickey kind of breathless how much he admires the boy beside him, how terrified he is for the good things in his heart.</p><p>“Yeah”, he says, voice soft almost against his will. “Course I’d fucking trust you.”</p><p>Ian’s expression melts into something grateful and content. “Thanks, Mick”, he says before pulling Mickey in for a kiss.</p><p>Mickey drapes an arm over Ian’s pale stomach, skims his fingers over the sharp jut of his hipbone. He kisses Ian slow and deep, tastes the drying sweat on Ian’s upper lip.</p><p>“And if, uh”, he says when he pulls back. “If you wanna practice sometime, or you need me to quiz you or something. You’ll be good anyway, but. You know. I’ll help out.”  </p><p>Words of encouragement tend to feel awkward in his mouth, but Ian needs to know it’s worth doing, that he should be chasing his dreams, or whatever. He could have pretty much anything he wants. Mickey will be in his corner.</p><p>And it’s so worth it, because Ian’s smile widens. “Really? ‘Cause you know it’ll take a while, it’ll probably be boring-”</p><p>“Shut up”, Mickey interrupts and squeezes Ian’s hip. He’s mesmerized by the way Ian’s face lights up, stupidly excited by the idea that he’ll be around long enough to see Ian become an EMT, that it’s a future Mickey might get to be a part of. “I’ll help out, man, you’re my-”</p><p>He cuts himself off, goes still. There it is again.</p><p>“I’m your what?” Ian asks, and he <em>has</em> to know what Mickey was about to say, because he looks like he’s trying not to hold his breath.</p><p>
  <em>You’re my boyfriend, you’re my boyfriend, of course that’s what you fucking are, and how the fuck is that true, how did I ever get so lucky?</em>
</p><p>Ian’s gaze remains soft, like maybe he knows it’s too sudden for Mickey. Maybe Ian’s mouth is pulled tight because he’s half-scared of hearing it too. The word claws at Mickey’s throat, but he can’t get it out.</p><p>“A real pain in my ass, is what you are”, Mickey manages to joke, and leans in for a kiss to let Ian know he’s sorry for not being ready. To let him know he <em>will</em> be, at some point.</p><p>It must work, because Ian giggles into his mouth, curls a hand around Mickey’s ear like it’s all okay. Like he’ll wait.</p><p>“You know that’s practically an invitation to make a sex joke, right?” he asks after, and Mickey has no choice but to throw a pillow at him before hobbling to the bathroom to clean up.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>5. Ian</strong>
</p><p>It’s late when Fiona gets home, looking exhausted and carrying two full bags of groceries. Ian is the only Gallagher around; it’s Friday, the weather is warm, and everyone is probably out partying and getting in trouble. Lip had tried to get Ian to join him, but Ian had rather celebrated his weekend by having Mickey over, alternating between action flicks and messy make-out sessions on Ian’s bed.</p><p>Ian’s just snuck downstairs to get them snacks, and he’s in the kitchen when Fiona arrives, sets the groceries down on the table.</p><p>“Hey”, she says, smiles despite the dark circles under her eyes, comes over to run a hand through Ian’s hair.</p><p>She’s clearly overworked, and Ian feels a pang of sympathy. Sure, balancing school, work and social life sucks sometimes, but he can’t imagine the kind of stress she’s under, working shitty jobs and even shittier hours to take care of the entire family.</p><p>“Let me put those away for you”, Ian says and grabs the first bag to empty the contents, milk and butter and Carl’s favorite breakfast cereal.</p><p>Fiona sits down at the table to watch him quietly, head tilted, shoulders slumping tiredly. Ian turns to her as soon as he closes the fridge door, and then they’re just looking at each other in the quiet, dim kitchen. It’s Fiona who breaks the silence.</p><p>“I’m happy you’re here, Ian”, she says, warm and genuine. “We’re all happy you’re here.”</p><p>“I know”, Ian admits, leaning against the counter. He does, he really does. That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to hear it, that he’s wanted, even needed. He isn’t a stranger here, like he used to worry. “I like being here. You guys are my family.”</p><p>Fiona sighs and rubs a hand across her face. “Look, I know…All this must’ve been so strange for you, new school, new people, new routines. But you’ve taken it all in stride. It seems like you have, at least, so.” She looks up at him, eyes all earnest and worried. “Have you? Are you doing okay?”</p><p>Ian sits down next to her, holds her gaze, squeezes Fiona’s wrist reassuringly. “I am. I’m doing more than okay. I’m <em>happy</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t ask that enough”, she shakes her head. “There’s always something going on, you all have your own lives already. I should ask you guys more often.”</p><p>Ian thinks they should be asking Fiona that, but he’s also sure that none of them would get an honest answer out of her. Lip, maybe, since he’s the second oldest and understands some of the responsibilities Fiona has. She is the kind of person whose moments of weakness and need are reserved for when she’s alone. It makes Ian impossibly sad, impossibly angry at the people who were able to leave such a heavy thing for a child to carry.</p><p>“You do more than enough”, he says, voice tight.</p><p>Fiona’s eyes look a bit shiny, but she’s smiling. She pulls her hand away, looks at Ian like he’s done something important, something she should be proud of. “So you don’t have anything you need to get off your chest? You know I’m here if you want to talk.”</p><p>Technically, he knows that. But he’s used to living as an only child, used to being independent, even taking pride in it. It feels strange, being offered the option to just… talk. Tell his family about his hopes, his worries, the good stuff, and the bad stuff.</p><p>Ian leans back in his chair. “Everything’s okay, I promise.”</p><p>Right now, it’s true. Everything is okay; no tests coming up at school, tips have been great at work lately, he’s spending Saturday by helping Debbie with her school project. Mickey’s waiting for him upstairs, all spread out on the sheets like he belongs there.</p><p>Ian pauses, sits up straight. “Fiona. There is something. I want to tell you something.”</p><p>Fiona nods, eyes wide. “I’m here.”</p><p>“It’s nothing bad”, Ian hurries to assure her. “It’s- I have a boyfriend.”</p><p>The word feels loud in the quiet kitchen, but Ian doesn’t have time to worry about his sister’s reaction, because a slow smile is already spreading over Fiona’s face.</p><p>“Ian!” she whisper-shouts, happy and excited. “That’s amazing! Is this a recent thing? Is he from around here?”</p><p>Ian nods, hoping he isn’t giving too much away. Fiona’s face goes serious for a moment. “He treating you well?”</p><p>“He is”, Ian says without hesitation, thinking about the boy in his bed, ready to greet Ian with a kiss as soon as he comes back.</p><p>“Good”, Fiona jabs a finger at him. “A Gallagher doesn’t take any bullshit. Especially not from guys.”</p><p>Ian laughs. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Are we going to meet him?”</p><p>They have, but Ian can’t really say that. He should’ve predicted there was no end to his family’s curiosity.</p><p>“Maybe”, is what he settles on. “We’re taking it at our own pace, you know. Down low, for now. This neighborhood can be…”</p><p>Ian trails off, but Fiona must get it, because her eyes turn sad again. “I know. I’m sorry. I hope you and your boyfriend know you will always be safe under my roof.”</p><p>Ian has never felt unsafe in his own home, has never needed to fear what his family might think of him, but it’s still a relief to hear. He thinks of Mickey, who is never safe in his own home because of who he is, and he wants to crush Fiona into a hug for offering this.</p><p>“Yeah”, he mumbles. “Thanks, Fi.”</p><p>Their moment doesn’t last any longer than that, because Fiona has to pick up Liam from Kev and Vee’s house, and Ian doesn’t want to keep Mickey waiting. Ian finds a bag of not-yet-expired pretzels from behind the cereal and grabs two beers from the fridge. Before he heads upstairs with his snacks, he catches Fiona looking at him from the door, an unreadable look on her face.</p><p>“I’m really happy for you”, she says. “Tell him hi from me, will you?”</p><p>She’s out of the door before Ian has the chance to ask who she means, his boyfriend or the guy he seems to spend most of his Friday nights with.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>+1. Mickey</strong>
</p><p>“I heard you”, he blurts out when Ian is tugging his jeans off.</p><p>“Huh?” Ian stops, looking up, fingers still hooked in Mickey’s belt loops. “You heard me what?”</p><p>Mickey’s face flames. They’ve been slowly stripping each other for the past fifteen minutes, taking their time, kissing and dragging their hands all over each other’s bodies, so fucking nice and thorough. But Ian’s mouth on his neck isn’t the only reason Mickey’s heart is pounding wildly. He can’t concentrate, can’t stop hearing what Ian told his sister on a loop in his head.</p><p>He’d heard the conversation by accident. He’d meant to go downstairs to check what was taking Ian so long, and frozen on the steps when he’d heard two voices from the kitchen. He’d stood and listened, nearly vibrating out of his skin.</p><p>“Heard-”, Mickey swallows, mouth dry. He can already hear himself floundering, getting embarrassed, can feel himself flushing uncomfortably. But it’s out there now. Rip it off like a fucking band-aid. “Heard you talking to your sister. About us.”</p><p>The look of confusion on Ian’s face turns to worry. He lets go of Mickey, sits back on his heels. “I should have talked about it with you first, I just thought-”</p><p>“Shit, no”, Mickey says, sitting up as well. “It’s not that. You said- You told her you have a boyfriend.”</p><p>Ian stares, cautious and wide-eyed. “Was I wrong?”</p><p>And goddammit, this isn’t at all Mickey’s strong suit. Maybe he should’ve given some thought to what he wanted to say <em>before</em> he started talking. “Fuck, no, Ian.”</p><p>He crawls closer, lays a hand on Ian’s bare thigh to assure him that Mickey’s not running away. The words are struggling to come out. Mickey presses his fingers into Ian’s soft skin, grounding himself. “I meant. Sounded good, you calling me that.”</p><p>He can feel Ian’s body relaxing beneath his touch, see Ian’s expression melting into a smile. “I kinda thought so, too.”</p><p>“I want that”, Mickey says, voice quiet but sure when Ian’s fingers wrap around his wrist. It feels like encouragement, like elation. “The whole fucking thing, you know, official. Boyfriends.”</p><p>There it is. Mickey saying what he wants, plain and clear, no bullshit. It shouldn’t be nerve-wracking, because this is <em>Ian</em>, the one person whose reaction Mickey never has to worry about. Still. Mickey’s never really been allowed to want things, especially not things like this.</p><p>“Official?” Ian asks, teasing, but there’s no disguising the glint in his eye, the excited flush on his cheeks. “That sounds pretty serious.”</p><p>“Fuck off”, Mickey says, but it comes out as a laugh, because Ian’s face is painfully open and full of emotion, and it’s for <em>him</em>. “Stop making fun of me.”</p><p>Mickey doesn’t put up a fight when Ian pushes him onto his back, climbs on top of him, hovers over him just <em>looking</em>, holding eye contact. It should be uncomfortable, weird as fuck, but it’s not. Ian’s smiling so wide his face looks ready to split in two, and all Mickey can think about is how he should never stop.</p><p>“Boyfriend”, Ian says, leaning closer until it’s a whisper against Mickey’s mouth.</p><p>Mickey tilts his head up, connecting their lips, wraps his arms around Ian, who presses against him eagerly, kisses him like it’s been weeks instead of a few minutes. It turns dirty fast, Ian’s tongue hot in his mouth, hands trailing down Mickey’s body, burning their marks on his chest, his bare stomach.</p><p>Groaning, Mickey lets go of Ian to slide his jeans off rest of the way. Ian pulls away, reaches down impatiently to help push them down Mickey’s thighs. It’s nothing like the unhurried kisses they started with, now they can barely keep away from each other for long enough to get naked.</p><p>“God”, Ian says, breathless and happy, as he chucks his boxers somewhere on the floor. He’s back on Mickey in a second, lips on his mouth, jaw, neck. “You’re my boyfriend.”</p><p>“You’re so fucking lame”, Mickey groans, but tangles a hand in Ian’s hair.</p><p>“I’m your lame boyfriend.”</p><p>And it is lame, it’s <em>so fucking lame</em>, but Mickey can’t blame Ian for repeating the word, testing how it feels on his tongue, because each time it shoots through Mickey’s entire body like every drug in the world combined.</p><p>“Yeah, you fucking are”, Mickey confirms, mouth pressed into Ian’s cheek, and he isn’t scared of it at all.</p><p>This is what gets Ian going, apparently, because he sinks his teeth sharply into Mickey’s neck, roll his hips so that their naked cocks slide together. It makes heat flare up in Mickey’s stomach. He pulls Ian’s hair, urges him to get on with it.</p><p>Ian doesn’t disappoint. He digs his fingers into the flesh of Mickey’s thighs, pushes up until they’re pressed against Mickey’s chest.</p><p>Soon enough, Ian’s working two fingers into him, eager and insistent. Mickey’s glad he’s not taking his time, because right now, he feels like he could shake apart with the urgency to have Ian inside him, on him, close to him in every way possible.</p><p>“C’mon”, Mickey gasps when Ian jabs his prostate harshly. “C’mon, fuck me.”</p><p>Ian pulls his fingers out, presses a sloppy kiss onto Mickey’s thigh. Then he’s taking hold of Mickey’s legs, gripping the sweat-slick backs of his knees, lifting his calves to rest on Ian’s shoulders.</p><p>There’s a wet sound as Ian jerks himself off with a lube-coated hand. He smears the rest over Mickey’s hole, pushes a little bit inside to get him nice and ready. It’s hot, feels a little filthy, but Mickey is impatient enough that he’s ready to reach down and grab Ian’s dick to get it into him faster.</p><p>He’s rewarded, though, by Ian’s large palm on his ass, holding him still as Ian finally fills him up.</p><p>It’s overwhelming, in the best possible way, the almost-too-tight fit of Ian’s cock, the heat of his skin, his bright eyes as he holds Mickey’s gaze when he pushes in.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>”, Ian breathes, a shaky little sound, leans closer, nearly folding Mickey in half in the process.</p><p>Mickey’s past the point of being embarrassed about being so exposed, held so open. His blood is boiling with want. He can barely draw a full breath with how badly he needs more of it, needs Ian to give it to him hard and fast and dirty.</p><p>“Ian”, he says, gripping Ian’s bicep tightly. It sounds like a plea.</p><p>“Got you”, Ian assures him.</p><p>He does, of course he does, Mickey doesn’t even have to question it. He just has to hold on tight as Ian rocks forward, fucks him senseless with that perfect cock, presses open-mouthed kisses onto Mickey’s panting mouth.</p><p>“Jesus”, Ian moans in between. “Look so fucking good. You feel so fucking good.”</p><p>“Oh fuck, <em>fuck</em>.”</p><p>Ian’s breathing is heavy with effort, chest glistening with sweat even though they haven’t been at it for long. They won’t be, either, because his thrusts are getting sharper, faster, and Mickey knows it means he’s close.</p><p>There’s something soft in Ian’s eyes when he pulls away from a kiss, contradicting the way he’s pounding Mickey’s ass hard enough for the headboard clank against the wall.</p><p>“That’s perfect”, he sounds awed as much as turned on. “My perfect fucking boyfriend.”</p><p>It should be ridiculous, too emotional and sappy in the middle of sex. What Mickey should be doing is cringing away from it. Instead, his heart fucking seizes in his chest, and he pulls Ian back in with too much force, knocks their mouths together.</p><p>What he should be doing is telling Ian what an absolutely stupid thing that is to say, how no one wants to hear that while banging. Instead, he comes in about five seconds after Ian gets a hand around his cock, gripping Ian’s hair so sharply it has to hurt.</p><p>Mickey’s legs are shaky and weak when Ian lowers them, his throat dry, his vision swimming. He can feel Ian’s come slipping out of him already. Normally, Ian would be all over that, the weird fucker, prodding and pushing and fingering it out of Mickey’s hole.</p><p>Now Ian just slides next to him on the bed, that smile still firmly in place, accompanied by a post-sex glow. His hair is sticking in all directions from Mickey tugging on it, and it’s the most adorable thing Mickey’s ever seen.</p><p>“Pleased with yourself, huh?” Mickey teases, but his voice lacks strength.</p><p>“Come here”, Ian says, spreading his arms.</p><p>Mickey goes. He’s about to pass out, and the best place for it seems to be the crook of Ian’s neck. At what point Mickey became the type of person that doesn’t mind <em>cuddling</em> after sex, he doesn’t know. As soon as he’s settled snugly against Ian’s side, Ian throws a sheet over them both, splays a hand over Mickey’s sweaty back.</p><p>Mickey feels content and terrifyingly happy, but there’s a limit to how many sappy things he can say in a day.</p><p>“That how you always fuck your boyfriend?” he asks, speaks it into Ian’s neck, brushes his thumb over Ian’s ribs to convey even a fraction of the emotion swirling inside him. “’Cause I think I might be into it.”</p><p>Ian gets it, because he laughs softly and pinches the spot next to Mickey’s shoulder blade. “Keep being my boyfriend and you’ll find out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The part about Ian wanting to become an EMT after patching Mickey up was inspired by an anon I got on tumblr, so thank you for that!!</p><p>As always, thank you for reading and for the wonderful feedback I've gotten on this series, it means the world to me&lt;3</p><p>am using <a href="https://farfromohio.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> again, at least for the moment</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>